


Share Your Scream

by spideysmjs



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, College AU, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, It’s just me and my whims now, I’m so sorry, Porn What Plot, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29409294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideysmjs/pseuds/spideysmjs
Summary: One must be careful with video conference calls.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 32
Kudos: 90





	Share Your Scream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seekrest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/gifts).



> Happy Galentine's Day, Seek! <3

MJ drags her feet up the stairs, shoulders heavy from spending the entire day on campus, having only an hour to cook and eat dinner before having a Zoom meeting with her group partners to discuss the next steps for their art final due in a month.

She’d be more excited if she didn’t have to work with three snobby art majors who don’t even understand the basic concept of Color Theory. 

In their first video call, she muted herself halfway through when Peter stumbled through the window, bleeding and subsequently ranting about Norman not playing fair because he’d just come out of his chemistry lab practical, tired and not very excited to fight. 

Of course, she smiled intently, much more interested in what Peter had to say more than Ashley’s surface-level analysis of _Mona Lisa_ —MJ still mind-blown that their conversation’s tangent isn’t even focusing on artworks that motivated her to take up the minor in the first place. 

The meeting ran long enough for Peter to heal completely, MJ’s patience running thin, cursing the fact that their studio apartment shared the same living room and bedroom space, forced to watch Peter brag about his chiseled features—much like _David_ , but even better because Peter’s her boyfriend and she gets to _touch_ the art. 

“MJ? You there?” Ashley snapped, her voice bothered despite the fact that they’d lost the main topic of the video call in the first place. 

“Yeah,” she said. “Listen, I’d love to spend _another_ two hours talking about this, but–” she curled her lips at the sight of Peter landing on their bed, propped on his hand, wiggling his eyebrows under the dim lighting of their bed/living room “–I think we’ve exhausted what we’ve been trying to cover.” 

Tina yawned, unmuted and loud, stretching her arms. “Yeah. I have another sorority meeting, like, in thirty minutes, and I _totes_ need my iced coffee before going to the house.” 

The four of them agreed to meet again, same time in two days as if MJ didn’t suffer the most on Tuesdays and Thursdays this semester. She relented, awkwardly waved goodbye, and shut her laptop with disdain, ready to end the day. 

Peter, still in perfect form on the bed, laughed. 

MJ smiled. “You’re going to cause me trouble one day.”

He pouted the stupid pout never failing to make her swoon. She moves a few feet from their kitchen table to their bed, crawling on top of him with her legs on either side of his body, already swaying her hips against him. He groans. “Let me know your schedule before I interrupt one of your meetings again.”

“I’d let you interrupt my meeting any time.”

He smirked, saying, “Sounds like a plan.” 

In one swift movement, he wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her softly, and pulling her close to him for the rest of the night. 

Little did she know Peter would actually try in the next meeting—and one, two, three meetings after—convincing her to do her work in bed, hands sliding up and down her thigh, a cruel, teasing grin etched across his face. 

His torturous hands smoothing across her skin, his not-so-subtle undressing, his lopsided winking that _unfortunately_ turns her on, always leads to the best form of procrastination.

What can she do if Peter’s biggest piece of advice is taking relaxing breaks during times of high stress? What can she do if her favorite form of relaxing is when her legs are spread with Peter’s face between them? Not much, it seems, since MJ—with zero hesitation—always closes her laptop and makes up a convoluted excuse to leave the meeting, which may seem shitty for her group, but to make up for it, she attempts to finish her work earlier than the rest. 

Even if she doesn’t always succeed.

Now, with still little _collective_ progress on their project, she swings the door open with determination to get her shit together and not fall for Peter’s menacing eyebrows and melodic laughter. MJ needs to get a grip! She needs to take the lead in the group project even if her partners are shit, even if she’s still doing more effort than the three of them despite barely putting in any effort at all—at least, by her standards.

But when she opens the door, she smells the aroma of her favorite #struggle meal of pasta with alfredo sauce and catches the sight of Peter in his fancy-schmancy _Kiss the Cook_ apron.

And only his apron.

Okay, he’s wearing a pair of boxers, but still. 

Peter Parker is a thot. And he’s _MJ’s_ thot at that.

She swallows thickly, eyes darting away from their kitchenette as she zooms straight to their bed area to change.

“How was your day?” he calls out, the slurping sound of pasta and sauce sounding exactly like––

“Just fine!” she yells. “I–I have a meeting in like an hour!” 

“The art project?”

“Yup,” she says, tossing her backpack to the ground before realizing how she could potentially damage her laptop. She sinks to her knees and unzips the backpack, scrambling for her computer. After checking for dents, she releases her breath.

After slipping into her house shorts, and Peter’s old Midtown sweater, she settles her work station on the kitchen table. Peter says, “Cute shorts.”

Peter’s tone is telling, MJ feeling the tease in his voice, noticing the tension of his motives that MJ simply isn’t able to resist. 

MJ scoffs. “Peter, we can’t keep messing around, I’m going to fail this course.”

“Aren’t you Professor Hannigan’s favorite student?” he asks, hands softly pressing against her shoulders, massaging her as she relaxes to his touch. 

“Yep,” she nearly moans as Peter hits a knot that she’s formed from her terrible posture. It’s too early in the evening to fall for his antics, and yet… She shakes his shoulders off. “She still assigned me to the three most annoying sorority girls.”

He sighs for her, one of his hands lifting from her shoulder as he cards his fingers through her hair, tucking the mess of fringe behind her ear. “You _did_ notify her that not much is getting done.” 

“That’s not going to work if the girls tell her that I literally leave all the meetings,” she hisses, her sentence a direct attack of his horny actions. 

“Fine,” he says, stepping away. MJ immediately misses his touch. “I will leave you alone for your meeting.” 

“Sure,” she jokes. 

“I promise.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Do you want your dinner?” 

“Please,” MJ says through a pout, her stomach growling to add to her desperation for sustenance. 

“Can I have dessert?” he teases.

“Pete,” she sighs, but her heart flutters. She gets up from her chair, turning around to face him. He kisses her softly. “After my meeting.”

“Deal,” he winks, then leans in to kiss her again, a lingering feeling of want across MJ’s lips. 

\--

The girls are late. 

Their last message being a collective, agreement of _hey! our alpha gamma beta zeta blah blah blah event is running late, so give us a few!_

MJ sits in the conference call, staring at herself in the camera, eyes flitting over to Peter who’s kept his promise to stay out of her hair for the duration of her meeting. He sits across from her at the dinner table, tinkering with his web-shooters, eyes in complete focus. 

They play footsies, her legs stretched, intertwined with his underneath their thrift store kitchen table. Her face fills with heat each time she finds herself staring at Peter for far too long, especially if he catches her and grins. Idiot.

She sends messages to their group chat.

Five minutes later, and no response. She sighs, loud and distressed and _dramatic_ so Peter can notice because… she might as well find some time to kill, right? 

Subconsciously, her foot has made it onto Peter’s lap. Whoops.

His eyes flicker instantly towards her, a slick grin curling at the corner of his mouth.

“What?” she shrugs. “I’m filling in time. Writing a paper.”

She stares beyond her blank Google Doc and laptop camera, eyes moving right into his gaze. 

Peter says, “Sure.”

“I _am_ ,” she says, as her legs continue to move up and down Peter’s. He scoots out, dropping her feet. For a beat, he stands still, staring at her. Then, he stretches his arms and actually flexes. “You are such a dork.”

“Is it working?”

She rolls her eyes, a mutter escaping her lips. “Maybe.”

“Good,” he responds mid-yawn and brings his arms down, walking away from his side of the table until he’s behind MJ’s chair. Quickly, she shuts off her camera on the conference call. If the girls make her wait, she can make them wait. It’s only even.

Peter lets his hands land softly on the back of the chair, spinning it around with an overwhelming swiftness that reminds MJ just how strong her boyfriend is. 

She swallows now after he’s completely turned her around. They face each other, MJ looking up at Peter, the praise in his eyes for her bringing heat to her entire body. Maybe their radiator’s broken again, maybe she’s had too much cheap pasta and now her stomach’s warm and twisting. 

Maybe Peter has a charm she can never escape. He softly pinches her chin. MJ smiles back at him, full of nerves, happy, and _at home_. 

He sinks to his knees. Her eyes stay locked on his. Her hands card through his hair as his face levels with her chest. She watches him lick his lips. “My eyes are here, Parker.”

“I know,” he laughs, then he looks at her in the way that makes her heart swell. She loves the way he looks at her, the way his eyes look like they melt into hers, crinkling and special. Then, his gaze shifts. It darkens, determined.

Then, his hands grip around her thighs, pushing them apart. She leans her head back, eyes closed, Peter bringing heat in between her legs as he breathes into the cotton of her shorts. Her entire body quivers. She doesn’t try to resist. In fact, she spreads her legs wider, waiting for more–the concept of their project’s deadlines disappearing into the same void that welcomes her dirty fantasies. 

“Jesus,” she nearly chokes. “Just–can you–”

“Yes,” he says, mouth pressed at her center. She feels her body gathering arousal, closer and closer to begging as he pulls back and dips a finger between the garter of her shorts and panties, pulling them down with an achingly slow speed. 

She groans. “Don’t have much time, Pete.”

He chuckles. “Okay, okay.”

Her shorts drop on the floor. He pulls, bringing her ass out as he cups her cheeks with his hands, holding her up while she wraps her legs around his neck. 

The tip of Peter’s nose lightly swipes up her center, tongue landing flat against her. Her back aches from her positioning, but she trusts Peter in keeping her balanced, and his tongue is literally inside her, so there’s not much moving she can do aside from her uncontrollable writhing as he takes her cunt in his mouth.

Her breath becomes heavy, hands curling into Peter’s hair the way he likes, the way he _begs_ for her to pull. “Talk to me, Peter.” 

“Busy,” he moans into her, tongue circling at her clit. Her eyes still shut and hands still gripped, she sighs.

“Make it work,” she says. She’s never been afraid to be demanding because Peter delivers. Peter falls to his knees and he _listens_ to her body’s movements, to her voice cracking as she repeats his name. He eats her out like she can walk on water, he eats her out like she’s the one who soars through the skies, like she’s his hero in her own right.

“Taste so good,” he mumbles. Then, he looks up. “Let’s bring this to the bed?”

“My meeting,” she says. He raises her eyebrows. A beat. 

At the same time, they suggest, “Table?”

He stands up, her legs untangling from his neck as he waits for her to collect herself. 

No thoughts, head empty as he hoists her around his waist, carrying her up and laying her softly on their dinner table, next to her laptop. She wiggles in between her work space and his trinkets. “I don’t want to break anything.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I was going to wipe everything out of the table, but these are expensive and breaking them is _not_ sexy.”

“Not at all.”

“But you are.”

She laughs. “You, too.” 

He drops his boxers and sweats then removes his shirt, and there he is – the chiseled abs, the dim light of their kitchen area mapping out his body. Art. 

MJ wants to touch.

But Peter beats her, his fingers slipping in her slickness with zero hesitation. She yelps, surprised as every tension in her body releases, welcoming his fingers as they move in and out of her. “God, you’re so wet.”

“Yeah,” is the only thing that leaves her lips. “For you.”

“Fuck, Em, you can’t just say that.”

“It’s true,” she pants. “I need–I need you. More.”

“I wanna make you come,” he says, drilling his finger faster, slipping a second, angling them in a way that hits the spot that brings her the most pleasure. Her body the universe and Peter’s determined to explore it, to find depths that are unknown. He never fails to do so.

“Yeah,” she says, facing heat from embarrassment realizing those are the only words that she’s able to say. Everything else is incoherent, cursing in between declarations of love, declarations of pleasure in the name of Peter Parker. His fingers start wiggling inside her, playing with her g-spot as her back arches, wanting to take in more of him that he can give. “God, just– _harder._ More.”

“You want more?” he pants.

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“Peter, please.”

“You want me inside you, Em?”

“Fuck,” she whimpers, eyes almost seeing a light beyond their cheap fluorscents. She closes her eyes and she’s in the Louvre. MJ always thinks of Peter as a masterwork of marble stone, shaped to perfection, but the way Peter glides his cock inside her makes her feel like art itself––except it’s a secret room, just for Peter’s view.

“You like this?” he asks. “Tell me you like this.”

“I do,” she mumbles, eyes opening as soon as Peter shuts his own, the pleasure so evident in the way he bites his lips tight. “You feel so fucking good inside me.”

“MJ,” he whines, pulling her closer to his body, her legs lifting into the air, Peter wrapping his hands around them while pounding into her with haste so desperate, just like all of their quickies in between study sessions. She squeezes herself around him and his jaw drops, pulling out and pushing back in relentlessly. Her hands travel up her shirt, squeezing her breasts, putting on a show for him, too. “You’re beautiful.” 

“Therefore I have value?”

“I’m not falling for that joke,” he laughs, so soft and light compared to his sharp and deep movements. MJ starts to feel herself flutter around him more, the muscles of her legs tightening, almost cramping up as her stomach begins to pool with intensity. 

“Close,” she states, moaning. 

“That’s right, babe,” he pants, one arm unwrapping from her leg as he brings his hands to her clit, using her wetness to massage the bundle of nerves at her center. “Just like that.”

“Peter–” she screams, her head bumping against the kitchen table, Peter’s webshooters and her laptop shaking as the entire table creaks. Then, she sees stars as her back lifts from the table while she comes. She swears she can hear bells ringing as he rides out her orgasm, her elevated peak finally dwindling down.

He pulls out, still hard and wet with her arousal. He brings his hand from her clit, licking his fingers with her taste before he starts touching himself. 

She hears those bells again. Her eyebrows furrow.

“Let me,” she declares, breathless.

And then, her heart stops as she hears: “Um, Michelle?”

Peter’s eyes widen. Fuck.

The bells… the bells from people entering the conference call. 

Peter bites his lips trying to hold back his burst of laughter. 

A beat. 

She doesn’t want to show her face ever again.

The voice from her laptop speaks again:

“You’re not on mute…”  
  



End file.
